Now That we are Grown
by FrenchieLeigh
Summary: Political turmoil and broken promises find Okita grasping for the woman he holds dear as she slips out of his fingers and into the hands of his bitter enemy- a man he once called friend. Slightly AU, Sequel to When we were Young


**Author's Notes:** So even though _When we were Young_ wasn't exactly well received (I am aware my character choices are pretty obscure and I don't stand a chance without Saitou involved), and in that fic I _did_ mention that I had no plans to continue the story, but well, when you live in your own head, stuff happens. =P

Stuff like sequels. :3

But guess what?! A NO STRINGS ATTACHED HAPPY ENDING. I ABSOLUTELY SWEAR IT. asidefromOkita'sinevitibleTBofcourse.. BUT. HONESTLY. SERIOUSLY.

I figured I'd let you know now since.. I tend to do mean things to good characters.

Oh, and if anyone is reading who _hasn't_ read the previous fic (you should, it's short), keep in mind that this is slightly AU so there will be things that you're like, "um.. wait, what?" haha

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**Now that we are Grown**

_We are._

Kyoto buzzed with just as much excitement as was in the heart of the young woman who waltzed in and out of crowds. It was a beautiful day, mild in temperature and generous in sun, and she was happy to be out in it, despite the disastrous political state of things. Today there were no endless meetings, callous samurai or bloodshed. It was a day she had looked forward to for several years now.

When Yamata Shousha stopped at a merchant's cart, she clutched her purse and bit down on her lip to hide her smile. Elaborate combs in all shapes, sizes, and materials were laid out on silk cushions, begging to be tried on by a passing female. Gold, silver, jade, bamboo, elaborately carved woods... they all cried out to her and her heart raced, not knowing where to begin. She didn't normally spend so much money on something so trivial, but today was a very special day.

"Can I help you, Miss?""

Her attention snapped to the owner of the merchandise and she gave him a happy, but nervous smile as she flicked her ebon braid over her shoulder, and brushed her bangs from her eyes.

"I'm a little overwhelmed," she told him with a laugh, "I don't usually buy things for myself."

The man, a round sort of fellow with ruddy cheeks and a bald patch atop his head observed her elaborate pink and turquoise furisode and let out a low whistle.

"Looks like you got yerself a feller who takes care of you right though."

Shousha's eyes widened, her cheeks pinked, and then she smiled a secret smile to herself. "Well, yes, I do."

At this he grinned. If she were out on her own, there was a great chance that she had a hefty sum of money in that purse of hers and there was nothing he would have liked more than to see it all in his till.

"Yer dressed up so pretty but that bag yer carryin' round is worn down to the last thread," he told her, giving a nod towards her purse, "I got something for ya—"

"No!" she cried, pulling the dingy thing to her chest. She hadn't meant to be so forceful with the man, and when he paused, mid-reach, she loosened her tense muscles and tried to smile, but her lips wanted very little part in the matter.

"It was a gift," she said quietly, squeezing it even tighter, "a long time ago, from my dearest friend."

The friend, a boy, who had come back home to her only twice. A boy who had broken his promise. A friend who had abandoned her twelve years ago.

She didn't even know if he was alive.

"Keep lookin' then," said the merchant, "an' let me know if I can help."

Grateful for his disinterest in her sensitivity, she sighed and shook her head. This was a _happy_ day. She'd be damned if she would let a rotting memory get the best of her.

She browsed through the combs then, weighing each hairpiece in her hand and contemplating her outfit for the night's festivities. Ah, how wonderful it was going to be! Music and laughter, food and drink, dancing, and entertainment all for the sake of her.

It wasn't so much that it was a celebration for _her_ that had her giddy, but the fact that they were all able to take a break from talk of war, from assassinations and from the hollow shroud of death, if just for one night, and live as they had before this horrid revolution had begun.

Holding up a magnificent golden comb with several filagree butterflies dancing across the top, she smiled. There were diamonds, small ones, glittering like tiny little stars and she imagined how they would catch the candle light, and if a certain young gentleman's eyes might follow her across the room, dumb with love.

Well perhaps not _love_. She wasn't that romantic. Not anymore. But still, the ability to captivate a man entirely was something she never possessed. Maybe though... maybe just this one night.

"...Shousha?"

At the sound of her name, she jolted back to the streets, nearly dropping the comb in the process.

"Yamata Shousha?"

She turned, slowly, scanning the area for the voice. It was a familiar one, and one that her heart was _daring_ her to place. She didn't try, lest she be wrong, but when her eyes fell on the charmingly cheerful figure of a boy, the heart in question nearly stopped beating.

He wasn't a boy any longer, but he seemed the same still. His smile was present, mischievous yet innocent, and his wide brown eyes that she had always adored were relieved, happy, and slightly disbelieving as they faced each other.

All of her resentment was lost as she hurled herself at him and caught him 'round the neck.

"Oh Sou!" she cried, hugging him tighter and tighter, in fear that she might lose him again. Twelve years was twelve years too long.

Okita Soushi had not expected such a rush of affection from her. While it was true that they had been nigh inseparable as children, twelve years now stood between them. Over a decade of experiences that they _didn't_ share. More than half their lifetimes of growth and change they had not gone through together, and she acted as if he had come home from a fishing trip.

He was happy for this, he supposed. When he saw her standing at the cart alone, he had at first been afraid. Why was she here? Kyoto was no place for a lady now. She should be at home, in Hagi, safely entertaining herself until the war was through.

He almost hadn't called out to her, worried that with her temper, she might throw a fit in the streets, chastising, no, _cursing_ him for leaving. She'd done it before.

Instead, she was happy, and when she pulled away, her smile shone like the summer sun.

"When did you get here?" she asked, not even waiting for a reply, "Oh Sou, I've missed you so dearly. And Kogoro—oh! He'll be so happy to see you!"

Though he wanted to watch her go on for days, bouncing in her place and flashing him her shining smile that had only become more beautiful over the years, Okita instead gave her a strained smile.

"I don't think he will be pleased to see me," he told her softly.

Shousha laughed and sent him a chastising look. "Don't be silly. He's forgiven you for that night. He can't stay angry; you know that."

He watched her mouth as she spoke and a heavy sadness made its home in his chest. The last time he had seen her, or Katsura Kogoro for that matter, they had been eleven years old. Katsura had been thirteen.

Okita had been home for the winter, having left three years prior to earn his education in Edo, leaving his two best friends behind. He had thrived in the city and just as he had promised, he had mastered everything he had been taught. As they grew older, however, times changed and their country began to shift.

That last night before his departure back to the city, Katsura had made mention of the ideals floating around Hagi and his support of them. Okita, fiercely loyal to his training and the ways of the samurai, did not agree. Although they were young, and had much more to learn about either cause, the words they had shared had been harsh and biting, a debate that had ended in a shattered friendship, rife with stubborn immaturity and disrespect.

Katsura had taken a reluctant Shousha home, and Okita had run off to the bridge.

In the morning, he was gone.

Twelve years later, Okita knew that Katsura had forgiven him. He had received letters and they had reconciled their differences by post. But over the years they grew apart still, both holding fast to their beliefs and eventually they ceased communication entirely. As it seemed, Shousha had not been made aware of this.

Okita wasn't sure how he felt about it. On one hand, he applauded Katsura for keeping her ignorant of their falling out. He doubted anything would break her heart more than that. On the other hand, a deep irritation began to stir inside of him. Had Katsura kept silent about his wellbeing out of spite? Was he hoping Shousha would forget him and give up hope?

It was possible. He liked to think that Katsura was still a good man, even if the evil he was spreading through the city tainted everyone it touched. He wanted to believe he wouldn't have manipulated an innocent girl for the sake of revenge, but how was he to know? They had grown and they had changed.

Taking Shousha's fingertips in his own, he sighed, "We aren't children anymore, Shou-chan."

She smiled, blissfully unaware. "I know that."

Just then a man came up behind Okita, a tall man with spiky hair and a careless smile. As he approached, Shousha stiffened and her eyes widened. This man bore the colors of the wolves. A bright blue, the deadly proud turquoise of the Shinsengumi. There were no men she feared more than these.

"Hey Okita," he said, dropping a bundle of clothing over the smaller man's shoulders. Okita caught it as it fell and he nodded.

"Thank you Harada-san."

"Freshly mended by Masa-chan herself," Harada added, a cheeky smile appearing on his face. He noticed Shousha then and his devilish grin turned to her.

"Ah, and who is this young missy? A cute one, yeah?"

Shousha clamped her mouth shut and turned her head away from him. She didn't want him to see her, or to remember her.

Sensing that his presence was unwanted, Harada shrugged and walked away, calling out to Okita that patrol started soon. Okita acknowledged this, then turned back to his friend. She was biting her lip, staring at the folded uniform in his hands. It was exactly the same as Harada's.

"I understand now," she said stiffly, "we aren't children."

There was resentment in her tone and he studied her. She wouldn't lash out here, would she? Throw a tantrum? She'd done it before, many times when they were younger. Was she still so unstable?

"Shou—"

"We'll never be together again, will we?" she asked, her voice soft, and full of hurt, "the three of us."

He hated the hollow 'no' that escaped his throat.

Not trusting herself to speak, Shousha took a few steps back towards the merchant's cart. She should be getting back to her day, not dallying with a miburo. He watched her admiring the comb again and moved forward, taking a deep breath and his calloused hand laid itself on the crook of her elbow.

"Come with me," he said, eyes shining brightly, "live with me, be with me."

She opened her mouth to speak, but then stared at him, trying to comprehend his request. After twelve years of nothing, he expected her to run back to him? Of course he did. She always would.

Except...

"I can't," she said, not entirely apologetic, "Kogoro—"

"Kogoro will understand," he pressed gently, "I promised you we would be together when we were grown, and I fully intend to make good on that promise."

Words he had spoken so long ago came back to her and when she saw the raw honesty in his eyes her resolve cracked. He hadn't meant to forget her or to abandon her. He was just so focused on his training, his work, and now his position in the government.

"Kogoro and I are engaged to be married," she said flatly.

As if she were aflame, he drew back and the weight of those twelve years descended upon him. Betrayal rose up in his face, one he knew he didn't deserve to feel.

Seeing this, Shousha blinked back tears and lowered her voice to a pained whisper. "I waited for you," she told him, "_for years_. ...we both did."

She wasn't lying. How could she have been? It made sense. He had left her in the care of his best friend, and, after seemingly giving them both up, why shouldn't they move on?

"Do you love him?" It was a rude question, and one never asked by anyone who wasn't close kin or a dear friend.

"I do," she affirmed, "but not in the way I would have hoped to love a husband."

_ Not in the way that I loved you._

She didn't need to say it. They both heard the deafening roar of her unspoken words.

Okita looked to the comb in her hand and reached for his wallet. Sliding the hair piece from her fingers, he presented it to the merchant.

"Sou, don't—"

"Please," he said, smiling, "as congratulations to my two dearest friends."

She took the parcel as he handed it to her and biting her lip, she lowered it into her purse.

"The celebration is tonight," she said with a pitifully hopeful grin, though what she was hoping for she'd never know.

"I wish you all the happiness in the world," he said earnestly. She made no movement to leave, but they both knew she couldn't stay. Okita wasn't the type of man to breach social graces, but in this moment, there was only one thing that mattered. If he would be forced away from her forever as punishment for breaking so many of his previous vows, then he would take what he had been dreaming of, what he had longed for, and what he was fighting this stupid war for.

Just once.

Reaching forward and catching her chin between his thumb and index finger, he leaned into her, brushing his lips against hers. As a lifetime of memories, both real and conjured, coursed between them, he released his regret.

"I only wish it were me," he breathed.

He stepped back, wished her a good day, and disappeared into the crowd, removing himself from her life forever.

Shousha wept.

xxxx

"Congratulations Katsura; she is marvelous."

Katsura Kogoro accepted the well wishes with grace, nodding politely to his guests who filled the entire third floor of the inn they were currently renting out for festivities. Shousha was floating around, entertaining everybody in attendance and showering the more important folk with generous amounts of gratitude.

She was a vision tonight, in a glittering navy and gold furisode, her hair swept up from its daily braid and locked into place with her new comb. It was beautiful, possibly equally as beautiful as his fianceé and he had to admit surprise when he had seen her with it. Very rarely did she spend money on anything that wasn't a kimono.

"Ah, but what a tongue on that one!" said another man, chuckling, "I trust you'll domesticate her manner, Katsura-san."

"I do like her spirit," Katsura said with an amused twinkle in his eye, "she'll be much more refreshing than your boring wives."

There was feigned insult around the entire table and to keep the jovial conversation going, a maiko seated across from him, giggled behind her hand.

"Be careful, Katsura-san," she warned, "Shousha-dono is so forceful she may soon be leading the revolution in your stead."

Caught off guard, Katsura blinked a few times. He had seen this young apprentice, Ikumatsu was her name, twice before and always enjoyed her company, but had not realized her own bold nature. Still young, he shook off the embarrassment of her jest, and the prodding from the older men at his expense, and put his hand over his heart, sending the maiko a debonair grin.

"I most certainly hope not. If ever our men wore out of season colors she might very well execute them all."

There was another explosion of laughter and when Katsura and Ikumatsu shared a glance amidst the celebratory chaos, his heart leapt for a fraction of a second.

When they recovered from the joke, Katsura stood, excusing himself.

"I should pay my fianceé some affection if I have any hopes of her sharing my bed tonight," he told them with the wink of a young man enamored.

The table let out a collective "ooh!" and "ahh!" at the scandalous comment, then, laden with drink, burst into more rounds of laughter.

The moment he turned, he let his smile drop and, crossing the room, laid a gentle hand on Shousha's elbow, beckoning her to join him outside, away from the noise. She smiled at him and complied, happy to have him by her side.

Katsura, however, was not fooled.

"You are not with me tonight," he said as they both rested their forearms against the banister, "you are far away, in a distant land perhaps."

Shousha sighed, "I've always imagined this night so differently."

Taking a step towards her, he tucked a rogue hair behind her ear, understanding. "Are you missing him?"

"I miss him every day," she replied, her voice trembling, "and every night. And every hour that passes between them."

Katsura knew this and he would never make an attempt to compete with her memories of Okita. When he had left for Edo, Katsura had done what he could, been as much as he had been able for her. They had grown close, inseparably so, but there was still an emptiness he couldn't fill.

She never asked him to. She never expected it of him. He was there for her. He protected and cared for her. In their adolescent years there had been a time where they thought perhaps there was some sort of love between them, and had rashly and impulsively shared their bodies in several episodes of heated teenage passion.

Their supposed romance had come to an abrupt halt the day he had brought her flowers and she had, in her blissful excitement, called him _Soushi_.

He hadn't been offended, but reminded of who he was and who he wasn't. As much as his pride had been stung, he was not terribly put out, and though he tossed the idea of love into the river along with her hopes for Okita's return, they continued to welcome each other for comfort in the night.

"I saw him today," she said finally, after several minutes of silence.

Katsura waited, judging her expression to see how he would respond to this situation. Her bottom lip trembled and she bit down hard, her brows furrowing as she clung desperately to her composure.

He took a breath. "Now you know."

Though she hadn't yet exploded into sobs, tears rolled down her face, leaving murky trails of kohl in their wake. "I saw—I saw what he's become," she whispered harshly, swallowing hard, "I saw what he abandoned us for!"

He caught her in a brotherly embrace as she broke down and with soothing words, he stroked her hair. He hadn't intended for her to discover the truth about what Okita was doing—he imagined he could have kept her happily ignorant and thus, happy. He didn't think himself selfish; he had no personal ill will against the first captain. He had respected him as his friend, and now, he respected him as an enemy.

Shousha would never be able to understand that. She lived by raw emotion alone. She was headstrong, irrational, and too romantic for her own good. Duty and respect played very little part in her daily life, overshadowed by friendship, adoration, and, at the moment, betrayal.

Bending down slightly, Katsura gently pried her from his body and with his rough thumbs, wiped the tears from her cheeks.

"Please don't cry," he begged softly, giving her an encouraging smile.

"He should be here," she said harshly, frowning, "with _us_, eating and drinking, and laughing. Not with _them_. Not... not..."

Katsura leveled his gaze to hers calmly and continued to caress her cheek. "Okita is doing what he believes is right."

"But it's _wrong_," she pressed.

He smiled, "is it?"

At this, Shousha cocked her head, curious. If it weren't, they wouldn't _be_ there. There would be nothing to fight over. Katsura would have admitted defeat and they would have gone home. But he hadn't surrendered. They had barely begun. Each day it grew worse and he spent all of his waking hours fighting, recruiting, talking, researching, all in the name of change. If he didn't believe that the shogunate was wrong, why would he bother?

"Okita and I have both made our choices," he told her gently, pressing a kiss to her forehead, "and now it is time for you to make yours."

Frightened at his words, she gripped the front of his kimono. Her breath was shaking as she mouthed, _what_?

Katsura stood and took her small hand in his own weathered palm, linking their fingers and squeezing tightly. "It's been the two of us for many years," he said, "and I can't imagine my future with a better friend at my side." He looked out into the night, the soft lights of the city merging with the glow from their own party, "but is it enough?"

"Of course!" she said fiercely, anxiety rising up in her chest. "You have been everything for me, even now, when you're so busy. You brought me _here_, away from that house. You've given me everything I needed, everything I wanted."

"Not everything."

"I can't be ungrateful to you," she whispered, staring at their hands, "I can't leave you."

"You'll never truly leave me," he mused, a thoughtful grin appearing on his face, "and I look forward to the day I see little Sous running about the city."

It was an idea she hadn't ever considered, and even now she wondered if it would happen. What if he had changed? What if she left her home with the revolutionaries and was met with a demon of a man that her friend had become? He had been branded a wolf. Surely there had been good reason for that.

As if sensing her insecurities, Katsura squeezed her hand again, chuckling.

"You'll be fine."

"There will be talk," she pressed, "you'll be humiliated."

He shrugged, "I've talked myself out of more dire situations than a runaway fianceé."

Turning to him, Shousha pulled her hand back and then wrapped both of her arms around his neck, inhaling softly. She would miss him more than she could ever say, but as he had said, they would never truly be apart.

"Takasugi will escort you," he told her softly, kissing her face once more, "and I promise: once this madness is through, the three of us will be a family again."

He left to fetch the man in question, and she pressed a hand to her heart to calm it. When Takasugi appeared before her and with Katsura's nod, led her from the inn, she realized that the adrenaline coursing through her veins was not from anxiety, but excitement. Hadn't she been waiting years for this? Hadn't she dreamed every night, that Soushi would appear before her and take her hand?

When they arrived at the gates to Shieikan's Kyoto dojo, Takasugi bid her farewell and good luck. He had grown close with Katsura in the time of their friendship, and while he was uncertain of Katsura's decision to surrender his bride to the Shinsengumi, he trusted both of them enough to accept it.

With a huge intake of breath, Shousha knocked at the door, and requested the presence of the first captain. The minutes that dragged by after the guard sent for him were torture, as uncertainty started to overtake the euphoria in her stomach. But when the gate was opened, and she found herself face to face with Okita, still fully armored, his expression melted away all of her doubt.

Disbelief, mixed with unadulterated joy lit up the smile that he displayed for her and she felt twelve years of separation wash away like the tide. When he took a step towards her, she returned the grin with a shrug and when he held out his hand to her, she took it.

He pulled her to him, savoring the warmth of her body and the touch that he had dreamed about his entire life.

"I'll never leave you again," he breathed, closing his eyes and soaking up their reunion. She smiled. He could feel her lips against his neck and the change in her _ki_. She didn't need to say it, but he could could feel the content words that her heart spoke.

_ I know._


End file.
